


Comeback Season

by minniepar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Azkaban, Draco Malfoy - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Harry Potter - Freeform, Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Post-War, Ron and Hermione - Freeform, background Ron and hermione, eighth year, lonely Draco, ron weasley - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-04-18 03:49:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14204400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minniepar/pseuds/minniepar
Summary: Draco's mother had decided for him that, in spite of all that had happened, he should finish his studies.Harry had decided, for himself, that he wanted a year of fun before he joins the aurors.Fun, Harry thinks, is how he might have once described Draco Malfoy, if a bit insufferable. Now he walks around like a lost puppy, trembling. Harry's determined to crack Draco, even if Ron and Hermione (and everyone else he cares about) dissaprove.





	1. Coming back is easy, fitting in is hard.

1\. Draco

If Draco had thought that, in the days after the war, as the manor was ramsacked, his parents hauled off to Azkaban, and all of the family assets seized, that matters would improve with time, he couldn't have been more wrong. He had supposed, naively, that once he heard from the swarming Aurors that he had been pardoned (a fact barely audible over his father's yelling and mother's crying) the worst was over. That debts had been paid. After all, he had been pardoned. He could get a job - a career, perhaps. And surely, surely, now the Dark Lord was dead, his mark would begin to fade? Even as he worried, alone in the empty Manor, about his fragile mother and her upcoming trial, the young wizard felt vaguely optimistic. This was what he had wanted. The Dark Lord dead, life would begin again as normal. He felt eleven again, bulstered by confidence. He was ever so naive.  
The first shock to his system was when a howler arrived from Askaban. He had not expected to be contacted - he certainly hadn't been when Lucius had found himself in Azkaban previously - but such were the new, humane measures that Kingsley had enforced. They did not feel so humane to him. Having assumed he was free, he had begun sending out job feelers. Not all of the pureblood families had been death eaters (at least not officially, or in a way that could be proved) and he felt that the Malfoy network, though badly damaged, could still prove to be all he needed to start a new, post-war life. A life, he imagined briefly, free of old, painful memories. His mother, naturally, had other plans.

  
Unfortunately for Draco, she knew him well. She begun her tirade by saying that, whilst he may feel smart and grown up enough to get a job what he really needed was a return to normalcy. Normalcy, apparently, was a return to Hogwarts. The place where the final battle had been fought. Yes, thought Draco, sounds like a great place to forget his demons. He had been top of his class - well, second in his year, his mother's voice reminded herself, accusingly, and this would only help his future prospects. Indeed, thought Draco, if Potter and Weasley didn't hex him to death as soon as he arrived. In fact, his worries weren't limited. He ruled out an attack from Granger (too scared of a possible reprimand) but virtually anyone else who had been hurt, or had lost people, who was returning to Hogwarts had every motivation to simply kill him, or at least make his life not worth living. Draco shuddered. He had existed in a living nightmare for the entirety of last year. He would not do it again.

  
No, Narcissa could be reasoned with. Quickly, he apparated to the ministry.  
He walked into quite a scene. The great statue of muggles as slaves that had been erected last year, was being dismantled, a circle of Aurors crowding around it, casting a variety of different coloured spells at it. It was undoubtedly fastened in with some pretty serious dark magic. They hardly had room to move about it, anyhow, with hundreds of witches and wizards bustling around. Oddly, Draco had expected most of them to look happy. They had won, after all, he thought bitterly. They should be all smiles. Then his eyes fell on a list of names just behind the statue, a great long list of parchment falling to the floor and beyond. If one looked closely, as Draco did, approaching it nervously, some spell was making the paper ever longer, adding names endlessly. It had only been two weeks since the battle, and it seemed that the dead where still being counted. As he approached, he saw that it was subdivided into sections. 'Hogwarts' read one, with all the familiar names - Frederick Weasley, Lavender Brown - people he had known. Yet another said 'Malfoy Manor'. It was mostly muggles and muggleborns, and he had seen them alive, but had not known their names. He had not wanted to know. Now, as he stood before it, he could not help but read them. 'Eliza Weeks' - one read, and Draco imagined that it was the teenage girl, a muggleborn expelled from hogwarst, that Voldermort had fed to Nagini in front of him. In front of them all - with, of course, the threat of 'it could be you'. Draco looked at the ground, as though the name itself was obscene. Draco knew that people were watching him, judging him. It didn't matter - it wasn't you, you survived, Draco reminded himself, and you must move forward. You can never look back.

Never look back.

Draco took the elevator, alone. In spite of the business of the ministry, no one got in with him. Probably on purpose, he thought dully, as though he might try to cast an unforgivable in the middle of the ministry. Still, he supposed he had done so before, so it wasn't all that far fetched. The department of justice was all but empty, to his suprise - ran out of death eaters already? It was clear that they killed greatly beyond their own numbers, he thought sadly - or that so many were dead. He thought back to Voldemort's table at Malfoy Manor, in spite of himself, the one he had had moved into the great hall so that all the important followers could gather together, or rather tremble in fear, in the same room. Bellatrix, dead. Snape, dead. Voldemort, dead. In spite of himself, he remembers Fenrir Greyback, finally dead. The constant fear of Voldemort ordering him to bite Draco. The fear that so haunted Lucius. He shudders in spite of himself. This is why he does not think of the past. Draco breathes, and then knocks on the door of the chief Auror.  
'Come in', the voice is cheerful. It won't be in a minute, Draco thinks sadly.  
'Hello,' Draco says, trying to keep his voice soft an even. Behind a desk is Auror Robards, hair messy - his eyes blackened like he hasn't slept in weeks. In front of his desk, another wizard turns around. Draco takes a breath, trying not to react to the presence of Harry Potter. Instinctively, he pulls his sleeve down harshly. Unlike Draco, Harry doesn't feel any shyness, it seems, as he appraises Draco, taking his time, his face entirely passive throyghout. IDraco assumes that it is carefully concealed hatred, however, that occupies Potter's thoughts. It takes all the decorum inside of the blonde not to hiss. Draco points his gaze firmly at Robards, and tries to smile.  
'Sir,' he begins, 'I have received a letter from my mother, and it occured to me that I do not have a return address. I apologise for disturbing you with this minor matter but as I, and many of my,' Draco pauses, 'circle have parents and relatives who are unlikely to be released in the near future, such an address would be greatly appreciated. I would distribute it to them all, so as not to bother you again.'  
Robards takes a second to respond, as though thinking his words through. Harry - typical, thinks Draco - is not so considered, asking Draco immediately,  
'Is this the Hogwarts thing?'  
Draco is taken aback. Fortunately, Robards intervenes,  
'I apologise, Mr Malfoy. I realise that it's not practice to allow non-Aurors to see terms of release but,' he hesitates, 'but - seeing as Harry is, well, who he is, he knows about the clauses of yours.'  
'What clauses?' Draco says, suddenly. What clauses? The Aurors who had come to the manor had simply indicated that they would not be taking him to face trial and as far as he was concerned, that would be that. 'I was informed that I had been pardoned.'  
'Yes, but only because the Aurors at your home aged your dark mark.;  
'What do you mean?'  
'They can tell, Mr Malfoy, that you received your mark when you were,' Robards shifts through his papers, 'sixteen? Is that right?'  
'Yes, but -'  
'You cannot write to your mother. We permitted Narcissa to write to you, once, in order to try to persuade to take up your place at Hogwarts, once the ministry heard that you were looking for employment. She was desperate that you take up your place at Hogwarts.'  
'But why? And why should you care? And why does it matter when my mark was?'  
'It must have been an oversight,' says Harry, 'no one has told him.' He turns fully around in his chair, 'Draco', Draco flinches at the use of his Christian name. 'Any wizard who performed an unforgivable or got a dark mark or did - whatever - whilst they were still underage will be pardoned if they complete their Hogwarts education. If not - you'll go to trial.'  
'And, one expects, Azkaban, in all honesty, Mr Malfoy. I would very much encourage you, then, to resume your studies. Your mother certainly agrees.'

And that is the story of how an extremely reluctant Draco Malfoy found himself, once again, on the Hogwarts express. It was, however, the first time he had sat alone on the train. It had occured to him, as he had left the ministry, that this new pardon seemed to exist solely for him. Who else had done the things he had? He was sure some Slytherins had cast unforgivables during the final battle but in the confusion and constant wand-switching, most had been untraceable. No one else had taken the dark mark underage. He wondered if he was the only living, free person bearing the tattoo - scar, he corrected himself. Pansy hadn't returned - simply saying that they should hand Potter over to Voldemort, it had turned out, was not - technically - a crime. Goyle had no proof of casting an unforgivable (and Draco wasn't even sure that wasn't a lie) and of course, Crabbe was gone. Blaise Zabini was back, but, not directly connected, had managed to chat to a few younger Slytherins on the platform, blatantly refusing to meet Dracos' eye. In a way, he didn't mind the loneliness - he could catch up on his reading, reminding himself that he had missed an entire year of school. But a whole year of this? Impossible.

When they arrived at Hogwarts, Draco sat in a carriage alone.

He sat at dinner alone. Listening with half-interest to the announcement of new, separate 8th year dorms. It was a mixed blessing - no looking at Goyle's empty bed, constant looking at Ron and Hermione and everyone else who hated him. He glanced over at the Gryffindor table absent-mindedly, and was taken aback to see the famous Harry Potter. After seeing him at the ministry, and learning of his privileged position there, Draco had simply assumed he would train immediately as an Auror. He must bear mental scars, too - why on earth would he choose to return? Surely, surely, they weren't making him do his NEWTs to be an Auror? In spite of himself, Draco almost smirked. Killing the darkest, most dangerous wizard ever was not a good enough qualification?

Bureacracy, eh?

Draco was even more taken aback to discover that the 8th year dorms would be house-mixed, with one, sparsely decorated (and house-colour neutral) common room. Then again, only he and Blaise had returned from Slytherin, and that would have been uncomfortable. Again's he's half unhappy, half grateful. It's an odd, unfocused feeling. The opposite of what he needs. People stare at him, warily, nervous to be placed in a dorm with him. The thought that plagued him at the ministry returns - do they really bloody think he's going to go on a killing rampage? He stares pointedly at McGonagall, who starts to read from a list. She always did have a way of authority, and Draco relaxes as he feels eyes move from him to her, an air of unease across the (upsettingly small) group of returners. Gryffindors, Draco thinks, have been vastly overrepresented. Didn't all the Hufflepuffs try and hide? Why were they all gone? Ravenclaws, you might have thought, would know all the best defence spells. Apparently not - it seems blind, stupid courage was the way to go.  
Draco's barely listening when she reaches him. He knows what's coming. The theme of forced redemption and reintegration seems to be a strong one for the underage death eater.  
'Longbottom, Malfoy, Potter and Thomas,' she says. Still - at least there's no Weasley. His eyes glance over to the Weasel, who is whispering furiously in Harry's ear, as though he might explode with rage. Potter's shaking his head. Draco can't make out what they're saying, but Potter sounds vastly calmer and more even. And then -  
'Professor,' McGonagall's halfway through the girls' rooms, but it doesn't stop Ron.  
'Yes, Mr Weasley?'  
'With all due respect,' he doesn't sound it, thinks Draco, 'Harry cannot actually be existed to stay with Malfoy.'  
A buzz of agreement.  
'Ron, it's fine,' Harry hisses, too loudly. 'It's fine.'  
'It's not bloody fine. You only go and save us from their lot to get dumped with them again. In fact,' his voice rises, and he turns to Draco, 'why are you bloody back? I would have thought a long stay in Azkaban is more your thing these days. Slippery little bastard.'  
'Mr Weasley, please go to your dorm.'  
Ron obeys, a grim look on his face. Draco stares at the ground, not needing to look up to know that everyone in the room agrees with Weasley. He squeezes his eyes closed, and tries his damnedest not to cry.

2\. Harry  
Bloody Ron, Harry thinks, walking over to the fire and slamming himself forcibly down on the sofa. It's new, uncomfortably so, and he feels a pang of loss when he thinks about Gryfinndor's wonderfully worn in sofas, of years gone by huddled about that much older, much weaker fire. Yes, the room is clean and new and obviously great, but it doesn't feel like home in the way that Gryfindor tower did. Hermione slides in next to him.  
'Shall we go and get him?'  
'No,' Harry says.  
'He was only trying to be a friend, Harry. He's watched so many people get hurt, people he cares about, and he knows about your nightmares and he just doesn't want to see anymore unneccessary pain inflicted upon you.'  
'I get it, Hermione,' Harry replies, because he does. During the war, he had felt so helpless. His friends had died around him, and he could do nothing. The powerlessness was what had really ached, in spite of everything. In war, he reminds himself, you cannot save everyone, but the pointless wish to do so remains. 'But I don't want to live in a hostile environment. We talked about moving on from the war, from all the things we feel guilt over.' He breathes slowly. 'If I believe that we should be able to move forward, then that same principle applies to Malfoy.'  
Oddly, Hermione bristiles. 'He still ought to have served some time in Azkaban, I think. I mean, he's fine. They're even working, Kingsley told me, on a removal method for magical tattoos. Six months, Kingsley says.' She sits up fully, and faces him, 'you do realise, Harry, that he could walk out of here next summer with no dark mark, no criminal record and likely a stellar lot of NEWTs. Ron knows that.' Hermione sighs, and looks sadly at the fire, 'and I just think - well - and this will sound awfully lacking in compassion Harry - that why should Malfoy get to live his life when - when so many can't. He's been lucky, Harry. Luckier than a lot of people.' So were we, Harry thinks. So were we. And there's that feeling, that overwhelming desire to protect everyone he ever loved, even now, when it's too late. Perhaps it was that irritating trait that had caused him to -  
'It was my idea,' he says, without really meaning to. He hadn't meant to tell either Ron or Hermione. He had guessed they wouldn't understand. They didn't understand.  
'What was your idea, Harry?'  
'To let them clear their names - if they were underage.'  
'Oh, Harry,' Hermione murmurs. 'Please, for your own sake, don't tell Ron about that. Not ever. I'm not sure he'd ever forgive you.'  
'I won't,' Harry grit his teeth, 'and I'll go to my grave before Draco Malfoy finds out.'


	2. Unexpected acts of kindness

3\. Draco

Draco was immensely pleased that he was the first of his roommates to go back to the dorm. He expected they were all downstairs, complaining about him, but he tried his best to put that out of his mind. The past year, he had gotten good at blocking things out. Prying his trunk open, he pulled his robes out. For the first time since starting Hogwarts, he didn't have new robes. He could have bought some with the Seventh Year design with the galleons he had been able to get out of the vault before it was frozen to him, but he hadn't dared. It would have meant braving Diagon Alley - it would have meant braving the stares and judgement that people so freely levelled at him. Stares of piercing judgement that, he thought wistfully, had once been a Malfoy speciality. Draco had to remind himself that the robes were only two years old; it seemed like a lifetime since he had engaged in something so petty as school. So childish. But then, he had been a child. It was a strange, alien thought. It made him seem like a victim. He hadn't ever felt like a child when he had been fixing the vanishing cabinet. It was such an adult responsibility. Complaining about your teachers, sure - murdering the headmaster was something quite else. Draco didn't wish to be pitied. It had occured to him, at one point on the train, that he hadn't asked how long his sentence in Azkaban would have been, if he would even have got one at all. What if he would have simply recieved community service? The year stretched out ahead of him, and he couldn't see how he would enjoy or gain anything from staying. 

Having put his clothes away, Draco reached into the trunk and pulled out of a picture. His first day of school. Taken on Platform 9 and 3 quarters. His beaming, bright, bouncing self stared out at him. His father stood proudly next to him, unsmiling and determinedly stoic. His mother - and, God, he had forgotten how beautiful she once was - smiled warmly, clutching an arm around her pride and joy. It was only seven years ago, but Narcissa looked some twenty years younger. Draco closed his eyes, and tried not to picture how she must appear now. Throughout his childhood, she had always been dignified, put together perfectly, and it was near impossible to imagine her in some dingy cells, dressed in rags. They might as well have died, Draco thought bitterly. Perhaps Narcissa would have preferred it. Perhaps Draco himself would have. 

He tried to resist the urge to turn around suddenly when he heard the door open. Hunched over his trunk, he put the photograph back in. It would not do, and certainly would not go down well, if he displayed the faces of his parents. His own existence produced enough hostility, but the presence, even in picture form, of the so-called 'notorious second-in-command' (which, to start with, had clearly been Bellatrix, not Lucius) would no doubt cause all hell to break loose. 

'Trust me, Harry, you didn't miss much,' Draco heard Dean Thomas in that low, confident drawl of his. Harry, thought Draco, wincing. 'Otherwise I wouldn't be back, again. But the Carrows insistence that defence against the dark arts best become simply the dark arts last year wasn't exactly helpful. Shockingly, I can't put 'great at the cruciatus curse' on the CV. I wish I had just left, but my ma insisted.' 

'Great. Hermione was sure that we had missed out on our chance of even passing. She practically started revising for the NEWTs ten minutes after Voldemort died.' 

Dean snorts. A silence falls across them, before he says, in a significantly softer tone, 'How are things between you and Ginny, anyway? She missed you a lot last year. She cried all the time.' 

Another lengthy silence. Then Harry's voice, 'I don't know. At the Battle, it was just - you know, I had an hour to live. Or so I thought. Finding a girl you don't mind dying with is quite a different thing to finding a girl you don't mind living with.' Harry and Dean laugh dryly. 

'The latter is impossible, surely?' 

Draco stood up, picking up his pyjamas, made of expensive silver silk (a choice he had grown to regret), and turned towards the pair. He purposefully avoided eye-contact, but it was clear that they were watching him. Why should they be self-conscious, after all? It was their world, and he was an intruder. Draco moved to scuttle past them, assuming they would ignore him entirely. 

They did. 

Draco was pleased to find the boys bathroom empty. It was much brighter than the one in the dungeons. The slytherin bathrooms were all shiny black tile and marble, without windows of any kind. This bathroom was painted a soft pink colour, with brilliantly clean white tile on the floor. Draco duly noted the (no doubt) deliberately un-house-affiliated colour scheme. Honestly, he was surprised hadn't just gone with red and gold and left it at that. That's the house they all knew was running this new tower, no matter how neutral they tried to play it. Without meaning to, Draco stared at his reflection in the mirror. When he was younger, he had thought about himself as fairly attractive. He had sharp, even cheekbones and sharp eyes, he knew as much, but they had grown gaunt. Like his mother, any beauty seemed to have abandon him as quickly as the death eaters themselves had scattered. He frowned, before washing his face in freezing water. Coming up for air, he hadn't noticed that the door had opened. 

'Hi, Draco.' The boy winced. The use of his first name, combined with the oh-so-familiar voice. He had an eerie, sudden flashback to sixth year, and tried his best to keep his breathing even. Taking a deep breath, he managed, 

'Hello, Potter.' In spite of himself, he found himself flushing scarlet. Being ignored was immensely easier, it turned out, than this. Should he apologise? It would seem so hollow, surely? Was this some kind of plan - rather than ignore him, they would try to make him so uncomfortable that he would decide, after all, that Azkaban was preferable? 

'You can call me Harry.' Oh, thought Draco, there had to been a plan. Some way Harry and his friends had devised to further humiliate him this year. Draco did not respond.

Harry took an audible breath before continuing slowly, 'listen, Draco, this will seem strange but I wanted to talk.' Draco remained stonily silent. Harry's eyes were bright under his glasses, keenly searching Draco's for any indication of how the other boy felt. Potter had clearly forgotten that Draco had spent an entire year pretending to be a unwaveringly loyal death eater. His poker face was inpenetrable. 'I'm sorry.' 

Draco almost recoiled, his mask unexpectedly slipping; in spite of himself, he scowled. What on earth had possessed Potter to say that? The boy had indeed been driven mad by the war, Witch Weekly had been right. Or else the boy was under some spell, or was it even him? Draco had a brief moment of panic when he imagined that some dark wizard had snatched a hair off of Potter's head and had come to kill Draco for his disloyalty anf failure. Sadly, it did not seem too far outside the realm of possibility for Draco lately. Coming to his senses, Draco realised that Potter was watching him closely, almost desperately. Silently pleading for him to respond. But what was there to say? 

Draco tried his hardest to keep his tone even.  
'I don't understand.' 

'I know your mother didn't deserve to go to Azkaban, and I'm sorry for that. She did a lot to help, and so did you, and I don't want you to think that I've forgotten.' 

Draco felt like he might be sick. 

'Have you seen her?' He said, without really thinking, without taking the time to disguise his feelings. His desperation and sadness shone brightly. There was no way that Harry would have missed it. 

'I haven't,' he said, and Draco visibly deflated. Harry frowned. 'I mean, it's not practise. But - I guess - I could try, speak to Kingsley, or at least let her send you more mai;. They allowed it once, so -' 

'No,' Draco said, far too suddenly and far too sharply. 'No. Don't.' 

'You don't want to talk to her?' 

Of course I want to, snarled Draco, privately. To Harry he simply said, 'Don't do anything.' They stared at each for an uncomfortable second. 

'Okay,' said Harry. Draco winced at the softness, the gentle tenderness in his tone. As though he were speaking to a small child, thought Draco, bristling internally. 

 

4\. Harry

If Harry had thought that speaking to Draco would make him feel better, he had been mistaken. During their brief conversation, the boy looked as though Harry had slapped him. Harry supposed he had cornered him, somewhat unfairly, but he had tried. He had made an effort to move on. Watching the boy over the next few weeks told him that Draco was less willing. He mostly kept his head down. Harry himself barely saw him. He wondering where he was going when he wasn't in the dorm, but resisted a regression into his Sixth Year obsession. Harry resolved to put the boy out of his mind entirely. He tried his hardest to remind himself of why he had come back. Yes, to get his NEWTs, he supposed, but if he was honest, he mostly wanted to have fun. He wanted to be a schoolboy. When the greatest dark wizard is determined to murder you, it's hard to focus on having fun with your friends. And yes, it had occurred to Harry that this was a great year to engage in a bit of schoolyard romance. There had been Cho, and of course Ginny, but both had been so badly tainted by the war they hardly seemed fun. That was probably the reason he had broken up with Ginny. They had both needed support, something resembling love so badly, during those horrible days that they had clung to each other. In the days after, Harry had realised that he wasn't actually enjoying it.

Harry thought it unwise to express the desire to have a bit of fun with a few new girls to Ron. Instead, he cornered Hermione. Whenever, in the past, he had needed a problem to solve he had turned to her and, somewhat foolishly, Harry had supposed that she would have, yet again, some brilliant solution. The perfect girl, just ready to jump out of a book. He decided to corner her in the library.

Instead of being happy for him, she had frowned. 'You want to start dating? So it really is over with you and Ginny, then?'  
Harry sighed. Ginny was Hermione's good friend, of course, but so was he. He had privately hoped that she would accept the break up easily.  
'It really is,' he said, firmly. 

'Okay. And Harry,' she visibly hesitated, 'don't be angry, but, you're not telling me this so I'll tell Ginny, are you?'

'No.' His tone was deliberately solemn. 

'Okay. Because if you ever do want her back, it won't do to play games. And I certainly won't be involved.'

'I don't want her back. I don't think I ever will. I know that people expected us to last forever. I mean, it worked, on paper - Ron's sister, I'm practically family anyhow, you and Luna and Ginny are good friends, but - it just didn't. Sometimes it just doesn't. And I can't linger on it forever. Nor can she.' 

'Okay. Is there anyone you had in mind?' 

'No. I'm not really sure how to go about i.t I mean, obviously, there are my groupies, but I don't really fancy getting involved with anyone at that level of crazy. I don't want to ask them out for a butterbeer and get spiked with a love potion, frankly.' 

Hermione laughed. 

'Oh, Harry, are there any girls at Hogwarts who aren't your groupies?' Hermione gestured with her quill, and Harry glanced behind him to see a group of fifth year hufflepuffs, giggling at intervals and obviously not studying anything but him. They gawped when he turned to gaze at them, when he turned back, he could hear them gasping and gossiping. He sighed. 

'I know,' he said, bitterly. 

'Lots of boys would be thrilled.' 

Harry smirked. She was right, of course. It was Hermione, after all. He didn't feel lucky, though he realised that he probably should do. He imagined how Dean and Seamus woudl react. They'd have shagged half the school by now. Still, Harry felt unsettled by the whole thing. Was it too much to ask that someone act normally around him? He felt that it would be impossible to get to know someone if their whole focus was on him being the chosen one. He didn't want girls to feel like they had to impress him, or trick him into loving them. He wanted them to fall for him organically, not because of who he was. Deciding he'd far rather study away from this particular branch of the Harry Potter Fan Club, he thanked Hermione for her time and headed towards Gryffindor tower. Halfway there, he realised his mistake. He wasn't really a Gryffindor anymore, but a strange hybrid of all the houses. He turned on his heel, and, in doing so, he caught a glimpse of white blonde hair turning the corner. He stood still for a moment. Harry knew, in his heart, that following Malfoy was infantile. As quickly as he thought so, he moved towards him, trying to move as noiselessly as he was able to. 

He probably is going back to the dorm, though Harry, scolding himself. As soon as he had thought this, Draco turned away from the route, headed towards - where? Where did the - Harry caught his breath. He was heading towards the Headmaster's tower. Had to be. Harry stopped suddenly, rummaging in his bag. Ever since those two Ravenclaw Sixth Year girls had quite literally chased him from the Great Hall, he had been carrying his invisibility cloak, always. Just in case. In case of rabid fans, not Draco Malfoy stalking. Still, Harry never could resist a mystery. He quickened his pace as soon as it covered him, catching up to Draco as the young man murmured the password. Harry snuck in behind him, trying his hardest to keep his footsteps silent. 

'Mr Malfoy,' Harry turned to see Professor McGonagall. 'I must admit I had not expected you to come. I did not think that you would express an interest.' 

Draco sat down in the grand chair opposite her. The older women regarded him from above her glasses, before pulling out a file.

'I wanted to know him. Does Potter know that I'm here?' 

'No, but naturally he has met Teddy. I expect it will be more of a challenge for Andromeda to grant you visitation, though.' Her sternness softened into a small smile. 'But you can be very persuasive, Mr Malfoy. For all your sins, you can be charming.' 

Harry was taken aback. He had forgotten that Draco was Teddy's cousin. For all his sins, Harry thought, Draco was keen on familial ties. He supposed it was a pure-blood thing. Harry wasn't sure how exactly he felt about Draco meeting Teddy, even if he might have a more legitimate claim on the boy than he himself did. And, then, something else. Something even more surprisingly. Harry was almost sure that his mind was playing tricks on him, but he thought he caught the trace of a blush come across Draco at McGonagall's compliment. It was almost cute. What a strange thing to think about Draco Malfoy. 

'I can write, or -' 

'I'll ask,' McGonagall interjected. 'Assess how the situation is. I'll get back to you.' 

Draco went to stand up. 

'Sit down,' McGonagall said, without looking at him. 

'Was there something else, Professor?' 

McGonagall eyed him, somewhat tenderly, somewhat warily. It was an expression Harry had become familiar with. It was her you're trouble, but I'm concerned gaze. If Draco was blushing, Harry could emphasise. It was a very penetrating stare. You felt as though McGonagall could read your mind. Knowiing her, she probably could. 

'Are you settling in, Draco?' 

'As well as can be expected, given the circumstances,' Draco said, shortly. Without being asked, he stood up and left, Harry slinking behind him. Harry did not follow him back to the tower though. Instead, he headed straight to where he could find an owl. Or, more precisely two. One for Kingsley, one for Andromeda. 

Whatever Malfoy himself might think, Harry reasoned, the boy wasn't exactly in a position to refuse kindnesses.


	3. Chapter 3

5\. Draco  
Draco had, for the past few weeks, managed, unbelievably, to stay largely out of trouble. He had avoided speaking in class, either to answer questions or to his classmates, and, if you didn't count the endless glares, the only real aggression he had suffered was at the hands of Ronald Weasley on the first night back. Weasley had always been the loose cannon of the trio, Draco had secretly thought, writing the whole affair off as another of his silly outbursts. He was even managing to get good grades. Not as good as Hermione, mind, but then he never had been able to match her talents. All in all, as autumn turned to winter, he felt almost content. The past month was certainly an improvement on the past two years. If students who had lost siblings and parents to the war could manage to (largely) leave him be, why on earth did it seem like Harry Potter couldn't? Draco had been baffled by their little 'chat' in the boys' bathroom. He glared at the piece of paper in his hand. It was a letter from Andromeda Tonks. How on earth had Potter known?  
It read -  
\---  
Dear Draco,  
Thank you for your concern. In spite of everything that has happened, I'm pleased that Harry wrote. I'm glad you two seem to be getting on. Teddy is doing well and is in good health, as am I. I was sorry to hear about your parents, but was glad to hear that you are pursuing your NEWTs. I have met Narcissa a few times, and I am sure she would be very proud of you. As I'm sure you're aware, Harry is visiting at Christmas. It would be perfect if you might come together. Do let me know what your plans are, and Ihope to see you soon.  
Lots of Love, Your Great-Aunt, Andromeda  
\---  
Draco scowled, and at some level he knew he was being ridiculous. This was, after all, what he wanted. But it was so degrading. Couldn't Potter leave him alone? It was his family, after all, they were visiting. Couldn't he force his presence on the Weasley's like he did usually? Had relations between Harry and the Weaselette deteriorated so badly? Draco could only assume they had. The thought almost made him smile, though he couldn't say for certain why. What did he care? An unhealthy interest in Potter's lovelife was best left to the swarms of girls who followed him about all the time. Draco Malfoy, of all people, had more pressing concerns. His eyes fell back to the letter. He wondered briefly if he should thank Potter. Then he decided against it. Potter had no business interfering with Draco's family. Besides, Draco was growing increasingly suspicious that there was an ulterior motive at work. Perhaps he was trying to get Draco in trouble, somehow, in order to revoke his reprise. Draco shuddered. A few first years looked up, but otherwise he was entirely ignored. As usual. The thought of Azkaban was not an easy one to bear. Prison broke people, Draco thought. Bellatrix had always been dark, but after Azkaban, she lost all sense of perspective. Her darkness and allegiance to Voldermort had gone from something she believed, to something she was. Draco dreaded such a fate. Draco dreaded whatever might become of his mother. Lucius was strong, his bitterness forming a solid shield around his heart. Narcissa wasn't fit to be in a place like that. Moreover, she didn't deserve to be there.

  
Draco glanced over at the Gryffindor table. It was evidently loud, you could hear the low hum of conversation from the Slytherin table, and the tone seemed jovial. He watched as Ron laughed uproariously, some of his porridge falling out of his mouth. Draco squirmed, and glanced away. His eyes fell on an empty place. That was how it was, now. Seats on almost every table were left empty, as though in memoriam. The worst part was that it might have been anyone's place. Colin Creevey's, perhaps. Draco felt a growing sadness. The boy had irritated him beyond belief in life, chatting to him, as though it was his place, trying to get pictures of him whilst he was trying to catch the snitch. In death, the silence was immensely worse.  
Draco felt like he was about to cry, and hurriedly swept out of the dining room, leaving two untouched slices of toasts. It wouldn't do to cry. No one would feel sorry for him, and he had always been taught that it lacked Decorum.  
Ouch. Draco felt a hand on his shoulder pull him back harshly. He had been too engrossed in his own thoughts to realise that he had been followed out. He turned around to see Harry Potter, looking fairly sheep-ish and blushing slightly.  
'Sorry,' he said. 'You were practically running. I thought I would miss you.'  
'We live in the same room,' Draco said, coolly. 'I'm not difficult to find.'    
Harry blushed again. 'I know. Sorry. I didn't want to wait. I saw that you got a letter, was it..?'  
'My aunt,' Draco said, a hint of defensiveness slipping into his voice. She was his family, he reminded himself. 'Yes, Potter, it was.'  
'What did she say?'  
'She invited me to Christmas.'  
Harry gestured with his hands. Draco stared, bemused. The boy was regarding him with a look of desperation. Draco wasn't entirely sure why, but, then, he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't enjoying being curt with Harry. It reminded him of the early years of Hogwarts, years that were rapidly looking like the best years of Draco's life. Mildly worried that Potter might asphysiaxite himself, Draco continued, 'I think I will accept. Is there anything else I could help you with?'

'Aren't you happy?' 

  
In all honesty, the question stumped Draco. Was he happy? Pleased, perhaps. It meant he wouldn't have to spend Christmas alone in the Manor, which was immensely too large for one person, even at the best of the times. Really, he felt he wasn't able to answer the question. Not just yet.   
'All things considered.' Draco said, eventually. Harry stared at him. For once, he was unreadable.   
Draco supposed it was his never ending hero complex. The war was over, but Potter was still looking for people to save. Draco wasn't entirely sure, if he was really honest with himself, that he didn't want to be Potter's next project. In spite of everything that had happened between them, a bit of social contact felt nice. Strange, but nice.

6\. Harry  
Why wasn't Draco happier? And why did it bother Harry so much? Despite all his promises to himself, he had been watching Draco. Observing, rather - the word felt less disturbing. With some, limited, normal, healthy level of interest. It was no crime to take an interest in one's classmates. Even if, Harry thought to himself, Draco was the only one who had caught his eye recently. He had been keeping an eye out for potential love interests (again in a perfectly normal, natural fashion) to no avail. No girls seemed to interest him. He listened when Dean and Seamus talked about girls they thought were pretty, and tried to see the same thing. God knows, with his new reputation, he could probably date some of them. At the dining table, he squinted at a girl Dean had talked about last night, a girl in the year below, in Hufflepuff. And - yes - Harry thought, with some relief, she was pretty. Objectively pretty. Nice hair, nice eyes, nice - skin, he supposed. Really though, he felt nothing towards her. Speaking to her sounded more of a chore than anything, especially when she glanced up and smirked at him. Harry looked away in a flash.  
If anything had excited him lately, it was the prospect of Christmas. Now merely weeks away, he was immensely pleased that he would not have to spend an awkward Christmas at the Burrow. He hadn't really even been invited, this year. Ron had said so, but Molly hadn't contacted him. It was a harsh reminder that Ginny was her child, her treasured only daughter, and Harry, no matter how welcome he had been in the past, had to play second best. In all honesty, Harry had expected Andromeda to take a while to convince. Harry suspected she might be lonely. Especially if one considered how quickly she had accepted Draco's presence, as well as his. Harry had certainly expected Andromeda to take her time deciding on that boy. Harry reminded himself that Andromeda had lost a husband, a daughter and a son-in-law in one fell swoop. A sister, too, if you counted Bellatrix. In fact, Harry realised with a shock, it was probable that Draco, Narcissa and Teddy were now her only living relations. The ancient house of black, Harry pondered, reduced to fragments so quickly. He tried his best not to think about Sirius.  
Instead, his mind slipped to Draco. Safer, he supposed. He had cornered him, again, this morning, outside of the dining hall. It was silly, really. The boy was clearly uncomfortable. Harry could scarcely blame him. Draco had every reason to suspect Harry. After all, Harry had no real motivation to help him. Harry himself wasn't sure why, or what was possessing him, that he felt such a pull to Draco's aid. Still, he had always been inexplicably drawn to Draco. It was quite a shock to realise, this term, that he genuinely missed the teasing. Now Draco stood silently, head down all the time, it felt like he'd lost his spark. With a start, Harry realised that he had found Draco amusing, a source of fun, no matter how awful his childish insults had become. Glancing at Hermione, he doubted she had felt the same. Perhaps Harry was only entertained because he was quite relaxed about his status and footing in the wizarding world. Being of good blood meant one never had to prove themselves.  
Except for Draco, who had been forced to prove himself, again and again, by doing horrific acts as an underage wizard - as a child.  
Harry speared a sausage with his fork, and tried to pay attention to what Ron and Hermione were saying.  
'I spoke to her this morning. The scout loved her, really wants her to go and play for the Holyhead Harpies when she leaves.'  
Ah, Ginny.  
'How is she? Is she seeing anyone?' As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Harry regretted them. He saw Ron's face light up as he turned to fully face Harry.  
'You're keen to know,' he smirked. 'I did wonder when -'  
'I'm not,' Harry said, too quickly. Ron's face fell. 'I was being nice.'  
Ron and Hermione exchanged an indiscipherable look.  
'Okay, Harry,' Hermione said, but it was clear that she was only humouring him.  
'Mmm-hmm,' said Ron, pretence even thinner. Harry felt an abrupt rush of annoyance. He didn't want Ginny back. True, he hadn't found another girl since his chat with Hermione, but that didn't mean - it didn't mean he couldn't fancy anyone, couldn't date anyone else - just because he hadn't immediately met another girl he fancied straight away -  
'I'll see you later,' he said curtly, and left them, no doubt to gossip amongst themselves. Harry bristled as he imagined how they would confidently chat about how it was inevitable. How they were soulmates, who were just going through a rough patch after the war, how they would get back together by the end of the year. Harry knew what people said behind their backs. He often suspected Ginny herself was fuelling it. God knows Harry hoped she didn't believe it. If there was one thing Harry dreaded, it would be letting all his friends down.  
As he marched into his dorm, all he wanted to do was collapse on the bed. He had hoped it would be empty with Dinner still in full swing. What he certainly hadn't anticipated was being trapped alone with none other than Draco Malfoy. Harry had surmised that the other boy loathed him and wished he would leave him be. Unexpectedly leaving Dinner to find him would definitely look suspicious to Draco, and Harry sighed. Still, he couldn't help himself.  
'Hi, Draco.'  
'Potter.'  
'Call me Harry, please,' he said, tired and worn-down. 'Why aren't you at Dinner?' Draco was bent over his trunk, looking at something Harry couldn't see.  
'Not hungry.'  
Harry leant over, causing Draco to shut his trunk with a slam.  
'What are you doing?'  
'Nothing.'  
'Really, Draco.'  
'Nothing nefarious, if that's what you're implying.'  
'I wasn't,' Harry said haughtily. 'I'm just curious. You never used to be so monosyllabic.' As though proving Harry right, Draco failed to respond. He stood up to his full height instead, pulling his robes over his head, exposing his bare chest. Exposing his dark mark. Oddly, though, that scar wasn't what Harry was drawn to. Harry was looking at Draco's body. Had he always looked like that? Harry had assumed he would be bone skinny, but the boy was all lean muscle and milky white skin. Catching himself staring, Harry looked away with a blush. It was only curiosity, he reasoned with himself, it wasn't everyday that you saw Draco Malfoy shirtless.  
'Where are you going?'  
'I'm going to fly.'  
'Now? It's dark. No one's out there. It could be dangerous.'  
'Worried about me, Potter?' Harry smiled. It was still in him, then. Thasharp tongue. He hated to admit, but he enjoyed it. On a whim, Harry stood up too, saying,  
'I think I'll join you. Just to be safe.' Draco looked aghast.  
'You don't have to,' he said, much too quickly.  
'I'd like to.'  
Draco visibly gulped.  
'Fine then.'  
To Harry's strange dissapointment, which he didn't feel like exploring right then, Draco pulled out his quidditch robes and was no longer shirtless and beautiful.


	4. Christmas is for family

7\. Draco 

Christmas came much sooner than he had expected. It seemed like, in the rush to catch up with all the spells and charms and potions that he had forgotten in his year away, the holiday snuck up on him. Before he knew it, it was his final class of the year: potions, with an increasingly reluctant Professor Slughorn. If Slughorn had begun the year at least pretending that he had wanted return, all pretence was now gone. Draco could hardly blame him. He had been pressured to do another year, certainly; the last thing that was needed last year was having to find a new head of potions on top of everything. It also meant that his teaching was lackluster, at best. Still, Draco muddled along, trying to forget how much he missed having Professor Snape.   
He missed sitting next to Crabbe, too.   
'Class,' Slughorn said, traipsing in, a good ten minutes late, 'I haven't really planned anything for today.'   
Draco at least had to respect his honesty, and surprisingly found himself surpressing a smile. The man clapped his hands together, 'what about a nice, festive, Christmas quiz?'   
Weasley groaned loudly.   
'Or, alternatively,' he started, 'a free period?'   
Slughorn glared across at him, but it was half-hearted at best. 'Now, Weasley, I won't have you getting me in trouble.'   
Weasley shrugged. Slughorn reached across the desk to pull at the NEWTs textbook, flipping through it nonchalantly. Settling on a random page, he called out across the classroom, 'Potter. The smell of Amortentia?'   
Draco, strategically sitting in the back of the classroom, watched Potter with interest. The brown-haired boy turned urgently to Hermione, mouthing something at her, face all scrunched up. No doubt begging for her help. Hermione remained still, sitting fully upright, not looking back at Harry. Again, Draco tried to suppress a smirk. She clearly resented cheating in all forms, even in a casual Christmas quiz. Eventually, Harry sighed and turned back to the front.  
'Lemons? I can't really remember, Professor. A clean smell, like -'   
Slughorn laughed. 'Don't reveal too much of yourself, Harry.' Harry merely looked bemused. 'Can anyone else answer the question?'   
'It varies,' Draco said, before he could stop himself. Nearly everyone in the class turned to look at him. Draco supposed he shouldn't have been surprised - he hadn't said a word all term. Blushing, he continued, trying to keep his voice even, 'based on what the individual is attracted to. Lemons, for example.'   
'I don't know what weird stuff you're into, Malfoy,' snorted Weasley, 'but Harry's not trying to shag lemons.'   
Now, Draco felt himself blush furiously. He opened his mouth to go on, to wipe Ron's smug look off with the facts, but his shame overtook him, forcing him into silence. Luckily, Granger was there.   
'For goodness sake, Ronald,' she said, speaking to him as though he were a child. 'Malfoy isn't suggesting that Harry wants to - wants to - romance a lemon. The individual that has piqued his interest might smell like lemons, however.'   
In spite of himself, Draco's fell on Harry, who was still fully turned around on his stool, even as the rest of the class turned back to face Slughorn. The bemused look had been replaced with one that was more quizzical. Draco also hadn't failed to notice the slight blush that skated across his cheeks, matching his own. Draco cast his eyes down, but he could still feel Harry's on him. After a lifetime, Harry turned around.   
'Very good, Mr Malfoy,' Draco heard, but Slughorn's words felt as though they were through a heavy fog. Soon, the Professor was back to ignoring him, again. 'Weasley! How long does it take one to brew Veritaserum?'   
'I don't know,' Weasley shrugged, 'I thought it was banned anyway.'   
Slughorn sighed, but, yet again, it was hopelessly good-natured. In all of the professor's eyes, or so it appeared to Draco, the so-called golden trio could do no wrong. No matter how hopeless they (or rather Ron and Harry) frequently revealed themselves to be. At least Potter had the grace to try. Weasley's rudeness, although he didn't like Slughorn, still grated. Solidifying himself as someone Draco despised, Ron proceeded to turn around and face him, saying, with barely masked malice, 'Draco could probably tell us. I imagine when no one wants to hang out with you, there's plenty of time to study.' Weasley smiled sardonically at him, turning back around with a flourish. Not for the first time that year, Draco wondered if death would have been a better option. The classroom fell silent. Slughorn's mouth had fallen open, and he began weakly,   
'Ron, I don't -'   
'I expect, Ron, that the purpose of a quiz is to have the questions answered,' Harry interjected, quickly and sharply, almost tripping over his words. ''I certainly hope that I know as much about Amortentia and Veritaserum as Draco does by the summer.'   
Draco still did not look up. He realised that he had never seen Harry put down Ron in public. Trying not to think of the implications, Draco began furiously playing with bag, dipping his head further down. He was sure it was obvious to everyone in the room that he was merely trying to avoid their inquisitive, accusing stares. The redness in his cheeks seemed to be spreading to his eyes. It infuriated him. He would not cry. He would not cry. He would not cry.   
'Harry does have a point, Ronald,' Hermione said, ever the mediator. Weasley huffed loudly. 'All Draco did was answer a question. Correctly, I might add.' Draco scrunched up his eyes. Do not cry.  
'Oh, so you're defending him now as well, are you?'   
'I'm not defending him - but you shouldn't bully him. The ministry has decided that he can continue his studies, and you, Ronald, have no right to interfere in his education. Especially when you seem to care so little about your own.'   
'Bloody hell, I thought you were on my side. His kind should be in azkaban.'   
'There aren't sides, Ronald. Stop being so juvenile.'   
'There are sides. It's a war, Hermione, fo course there are-'   
'It's not.'   
'What?'   
'It's not a war, Ron,' without warning, Draco heard Harry interrupt. 'Hermione's right. There isn't a war.'   
'Oh, I'm sorry, all of a few months, ago, then, he was-'   
'There isn't a war,' Harry was raising his voice. 'There isn't a war. Not now. Not ever again, if I have anything to say about it. Stop it.' Draco couldn't see him, but he imagined the Weasley must have been gobsmacked by both his girlfriend and Potter turning on him so abruptly, as he fell into silence. With his head bent almost fully over, Draco prayed that it would soon be over.   
Breaking the pattern of a lifetime, Draco appeared to be in luck.   
Slughorn cleared his throat, audily uncomfortable. 'Well, Merry Christmas. All of you. Class dismissed.'   
'Some bloody christmas,' Ron muttered, audibly. Refusing to wait any longer, Draco scurried out of class, almost at a run. 

Reaching the dormitory first, Draco pulled shut the curtains to his bed with a flourish. Finally, finally, he allowed himself to cry, hastily casting a silencing spell. Bringing his hands up to his head, he rubbed them furiously against his burning cheeks. Why? Why had he bothered? A lifetime sentence in Azkaban would have been more bearable than the shame, the humiliation - how unsafe he fetl at hisown school.  
'Draco?'   
No, no, no. Draco was sure he recognised the voice. He hastily removed the silencing charm, stifling his sobs.   
'Go away.'   
'I have something for you.'   
A prank item of some sort, Draco was sure. Some nonsense purchased from Weasley's wizard wheezes, inexplicably still in business.   
'No, thank you.' With a flourish that burned his eyes, the curtain was thrust open. Harry was standing there, brandishing a white letter. Draco squinted in the sudden flash of light, and was horrified to see some of the other boys could now see him. He rushed to cower in the corner. Harry, realising what he had done, climbed in and firmly shut the curtain, face softening instantly as he spottedDraco's tears. Harry cast a silencio charm, probably stronger and better than Draco's, he thought bitterly, and murmured, 'listen, I'm sorry about Ron. He's upset about Fred and -'   
'I don't care what he said. I don;t,' it sounded like a lie even to himself; Harry obviously wasn't fooled. Still, he simply pursed his lips.   
'Okay. Well, whatever it is. I thought you would like this.' Harry held the letter out tentatively. Draco snatched it, as though Harry might suddenly pull it back. He could scarcely breathe when he opened it.   
'It's from my mother,' he gasped, looking up at Harry in wonderment. 'How? She's not ill, is she?'   
'No. I think she wanted to wish you a happy christmas.' Harry surveyed Draco sadly. 'Let's go to Andromeda's in an hour.' 

8\. Harry

The entire train ride to Andromeda's, Draco had clutched the letter like a newborn baby. He seemed to radiate anxiety, as though someone might try to snatch it from him. It would have been funny to Harry if it wasn't so sad. And, well, if he didn't suspect that Ron would do exactly that if he knew of its existence. He had let Ron and Hermione get the earlier train, without him, not willing to risk another confrontation with Malfoy. Ron had made a last minute plea, in spite of their fight, that Harry come to his for Christmas. He suspected that it was really on Ginny's behalf. 

On arriving, Draco had seemed far less comfortable cradling Teddy than he had the letter. Andromeda was, it seemed, the sort of woman who tried to overcome awkwardness by chatting incessantly. As soon as Draco had walked through the door, she had thrust the infant into his arms, talking about how handsome Draco was, what subjects he was doing for NEWTs, what his favourite was. Harry certainly hadn't expected to know Draco's favourite quidditch team and the player's individual statistics within ten minutes of arriving, but that was that. It hadn't really occurred to Harry to worry about the size of Andromeda's cottage, but, upon learning that he and Draco would be obliged to share a room, he suspected he should have done. Of course, they shared, now, at Hogwarts. But it was forever under the watchful eyes of the others in the dorm. The probability that Dean might walk in at any moment had successfully prevented action on some of the more inexplicable feelings that Harry held towards Draco. Privacy, for Harry, held a great danger.   
The first night, he tried not to watch Draco undress, as he had before they flew.   
By the third or fourth, he was sneaking the occassional furtive glance, praying to whatever God would help him that Draco would not notice. Harry suspected that, if he did, he might die of embarrassment. Or, alternatively, Draco would slaughter him in his sleep.   
Harry had never really had a reason to suspect that he was attracted to men. Then, before Ginny and Cho, he supposed he had never had a reason to suspect that he was attracted to women. Still, he had always assumed that you had to choose. Being both had never crossed his mind. He had become attracted to Cho in his fourth year and that seemed to be it, then. Mystery solved; total heterosexual. Harry thought he stopped breathing whenever Draco emerged from the shower, clad in just a small towel. Harry suspected that the towel was Teddy's, it was so miniscule. Internally, he cursed Andromeda for not protecting Harry from his own, filthy mind. 

It was only at dinner on Christmas Eve that Harry really lost his mind. Andromeda was doing her usual bulldozing style of chatter when, quite out of the blue, she said to Draco,   
'It is a shame that Blaise Zabini didn't return.'   
'Is it?' Draco replied, coolly helping himself to more potatoes.   
'Well, I heard that you two were,...'   
Draco nodded. 'In sixth year. He's a nice boy, but it was a long time ago.'   
Harry frowned. They were what? IIt wasn't any of his business, not really, but he asked, in spite of himself,   
'you two were...'   
Draco didn't reply. Andromeda hastily changed the subject after glancing knowingly at Draco. Draco bowed his head; a new habit of his, Harry had noticed.   
Later, in their room, Draco spoke first.   
'I would appreciate it, Harry, if my past relationships weren't mentioned to any of your friends.'   
'So you were with him?' Harry said, narrowing his eyes at the blonde's back. Harry tried not to realise that he felt annoyed. Draco whipped his head around.   
'If my sexuality is a problem, Potter,' he was back to Potter, Harry noted sadly.   
'It's not,' he said hastily, blushing a tad. 'I just didn't know.'   
What Harry really wanted to know is why he felt as though he might choke.   
'Well, you do now.'   
'Is there someone, now?'   
'No,' Draco looked away. 'As I'm sure you have observed, I'm no longer the eligible bachelor I once was.'   
Harry tried not to feel relieved.  
'I'm sure that's not true,' he said, before he could stop himself. 'I just mean - you're not un-attractive. I didn't mean...'   
'Praise indeed. I know what you eant.'   
Draco sat down at the top of his bed, fully changed into his silk pyjamas. He pulled a book out from under the pillow, and crossed his legs. He nodded at Harry, and opened. 'If you don't mind.'   
'What are you reading?'   
'The Reader.'   
'What?'  
'It's what it's called. The book is called 'The Reader'. Perhaps that's too tricky for you to understand.' Harry watched, pleased, as Draco smirked.   
'I think I've got it, more or less,' Harry grinned, 'what's it about?'   
'It's a love story. A muggle love story, between an older woman and a younger man.'   
'What's the twist?'   
'The woman she's... done some bad things.' Draco pulled the book upwards, almost pressing it against his nose, apparently embarrassed. Harry had no idea why.   
Harry barely slept that night. He could hear Draco breathing next to him, uneven and shaky. The other boy wasn't sleeping well, either, then. It used to be about the war; why he couldn't sleep. That christmas eve night, however, Harry wasn't totally sure it wasn't a combination of things. Not least the mysterious, beautiful and gay boy that slept a mere foot away. How, then, could Draco feel so unreachable? And why - oh merlin why - did Harry want to touch him him so badly?

Wishing desperately that this inexplicable fascination might be a purely sexual thing, Harry tried to stop feeling light and happy seeing Draco help Teddy open his presents the next morning. He didn't want to feel so warm inside as Draco explained the various soft animals to Teddy, who merely gazed back at him with unknowing eyes. That Christmas morning Harry suspected that he might be happy. He couldn't be sure, naturally - he scarcely remembered the feeling. Draco appeared to be happy, too. Harry hoped against hope that Draco's smiles and laughters and playfulness were all genuine. Harry hoped against hope that his growing feelings toward the blonde were mere platonic goodwill. His hero complex kicking in, rather than something much, much scarier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love love love comments :)


	5. Boxing Day, as it turns out, is for lovers

9\. Harry 

Harry tried very hard not to notice Draco's breathing. But, God, they were so close. Literally. Andromeda, cast out from the wealthy Black family, was no longer a wealthy woman, and the bedroom was anything but large. He could tell he was awake. Harry wondered if the boy was restless - upset, perhaps. He must be missing his family, Harry supposed. Whilst the thought of Lucius Malfoy remained fairly sickening, and Harry was quite sure that Azkaban was where he belonged, he couldn't help but pity Draco. He thought back to their younger years - how much more cheerful Draco would become as the Christmas holidays approached. How proud Draco was of his father, how often he spoke of him. Harry used to think Draco had been boasting but after the Battle of Hogwarts Harry had realised that, in spite of his cold exterior, Lucius Malfoy would have done almost anything for his beloved son. Harry tried to picture Lucius, sitting alone in his cell in Azkaban. His brain seemed reluctant. The image was so - out of character. Harry could only picture Lucius as he had known him, drawling and powerful. He could scarcely imagine him looking pathetic, or worn down. Harry tried not to think about what Sirius looked like when he had first met him. Dirty, in nothing but filthy rags - a broken man. 

Draco was breathing in short bursts. Harry glanced sideways ever so slightly, not wanting Draco to know he was awake. Harry watched Draco, who was staring, eyes wide open, at the ceiling, totally flat on his back. From this angle, it was difficult to tell, but from what Harry could manage, Draco's face appeared to be entirely blank, void of any readable, and thus helpful, information.

Harry wondered fleetingly if he shoudl say something. Then he remembered how Draco had reacted when he went to deliver him his letter, and thought better of it. Harry was certain the other boy would not want to be disturbed. Draco Malfoy, as much as he had changed, did not seem to want to expose a vulnerable side. To Harry's surprise, Draco spoke first.

'Don't look at me. I'm not an exhibit.' His voice was quiet, and equally as blank as his face. Harry was glad that Draco could not seem his flushing in the darkness.

'Sorry,' Harry muttered. He paused. 'You aren't asleep.'

'Well spotted.'

A silence fell across them again. Harry forced to look away, embarrassed, and, matching Draco, stared pointedly at the ceiling. He knew in the intelligent, rational part of his mind that he should simply turn over and try to sleep, but - well, Harry had never paid much heed to the logical sector of his brain.

'Are you thinking about your family?' He asked, in a terrible rush. He was worried, if he wasn't quick, he would lose his nerve and not be able to get the words out.

Draco said nothing for a moment, then murmured, 'that's a very personal question, Harry Potter.'

Harry gulped. 'It would be only natural. I'm thinking about Fred - and of course Lupin. And everyone. Everyone who-'

'My parents are alive.'

'Yes, but-'

'But they might as well not be. Is that what you were going to say?'

'No, I just -' Harry was immensely frustrated. He had never been especially eloquent, but right then anything good, anything even reasonable to remark had somehow escaped him. He should have just kept quiet. Let Draco in peace. Perhaps, Harry thought bitterly, he should have left Draco to his own devices all year. 

'Who vouched for me, Harry?' Just as he suspected, Harry should have remained silent. 

'What do you mean?' He tried his best to keep his voice even, and not too interested. 

'McGonagall said - I had a meeting with her when I got back. She said -' Draco breathed - 'it was you, wasn't it?'

Harry wasn't sure how to answer. Fortunately, or unfortunately, his silence alone seemed to speak volumes. He heard Draco exhale heavily. Slowly, slowly, Harry gathered enough courage to sit up in bed and face Draco. Now, the other boy turned his head to look at Harry, his eyes unreadable, hands grasped, as though in protection, against his chest. 

'Why would you help me?' 

Harry opened his mouth, but all he could muster was silence. It was a good question. Why had he helped Draco? The boy was the embodiment of everything Harry hated. Rich, spoiled pureblood, obsessed with his own alleged status. For goodness sake, Harry thought, Draco had bullied him for years - not even to mention how he had treated Hermione for no reason other than her so-called 'inferior' blood. A series of images crossed Harry's mind - Draco calling Hermione a mudlood, Draco breaking his nose, Draco trying to get Buckbeak killed...

Green eyes met grey. How could he look so different, now? To Harry, he looked so sweet, so childish, curled up in Andromeda's blankets, gazing up at Harry, frowning ever so slightly. Not for the first time that day, Harry marvelled at how strange Draco seemed to look now. He seemed so much like a stranger. As though Harry had never known him at all. Harry tried to imagine the Draco in front of him using unforgivable curses and torturing muggles. The idea seemed too impossible to entertain. But it must have happened. Harry looked away, unable to bear keeping eye contact with Draco. Finally, he answered honestly. 

'I don't know.' 

Draco made a strange noise - a kind of squeaky laugh, but his body wouldn't really comply. Harry frowned. 

'Do you regret it?'

Harry realised he didn't have to think about that one. 'No,' he replied, straight away. Only as he said it did he realise it was the truth. Draco was still pointedly watching him, and Harry was pointedly ignoring his gaze. 'You deserved a second chance. You do deserve a second chance. If you went to Azkaban... I wouldn't have felt right about it... I would always have wondered if...' Harry paused to take a deep breath. 'I would always have wondered how you were. If you were okay.' 

Draco took a moment to consider Harry;'s words. 'Thank you,' he murmured, finally. Harry wasn't sure what made him do it, but he stood up, and, without realising quite what he was up to, sat on the edge of Draco's, looking down at Draco, who was still lying flat. He rested a hand in Draco's hair - it was unbelievably soft, like spun silk. Unlike his younger days, Draco no longer gelled it down, letting it fall freely, creating a soft halo around the boy's delicate features. Harry inhaled sharply. Draco only looked bemused, gazing up at Harry inquisitively.

'I'm sorry,' Harry said, withdrawing his hand. 'I don't know why I did that.'

'It's okay. I liked it.'

Harry felt as though his heart might break through his chest. He couldn't say with total certainty what he was feeling, only that it was incredibly powerful. His blood felt as though it was on fire, his heart beating in his ears. He could only imagine the spectacle he must look to Draco - his skin hot, his breathing unsteady. Slowly, Harry began to stroke Draco's hair. And, God, whatever he had just been feeling someone, against the odds, managed to multiply tenfold. Harry was starting to seriously wonder if he was in danger of having a heart attack.

And then - God, oh God, thought Harry - Draco began to sit up. Before Harry could react - could pull away because really, what the hell were they doing? - Draco's face was level with his, their chests mere inches from each other. And Draco leaned in - grey eyes closing - and Harry realised that he wasn't crazy. That this was really happening. It was all far too much - he was bisexual, and kissing a boy - and loving it. Not just a boy but his worst enemy - a war criminal. A war criminal with beautiful hair and beautiful skin and beautiful... well, all Harry could do was wish and imagine. Harry's hand tightened in Draco's hair, as though fearing the other boy would pull away. To Harry's immense (and somewhat guilty) relief he didn't, instead deepening the kiss. Harry hadn't thought it was possible to enjoy a kiss so much. He had kissed Cho and Ginny and it had been.. wet. But Draco's lips were soft and gorgeous, his body keening against Harry's so fantastically as their chests pressed together. 

As he had initiated it, Draco too pulled away first. Reluctantly loosening his grip on Draco's hair, Harry looked at the boy. His cheeks were flushed pink, his eyes wide and wondering, lips coated with sheen. 

'I'm sorry. We should go to sleep,' Draco said, voice choked. 

'Draco,' Harry said, but Draco leant back, away from Harry's grip. Without another word, the boy lay down, facing away from Harry. 

Harry, dazed, somehow found his way back to his own bed. 

 

10\. Draco 

Draco hadn't thought he would be looking forward to his return to Hogwarts. What he had been thinking? Harry didn't want him to go to Azkaban, that certainly didn't mean that he wanted... well, Draco couldn't think about it without blushing. Before that Boxing Day, Draco had not understood what the phrase 'dying of shame' meant. But in the days following their, well, encounter, Draco constantly wished he would dissapear. Or, better, Harry would. The brunette had made several attempts to talk to him, but Draco had been curt and distant. He thanked God that he had learnt the skill from his parents. The Malfoys were not an emotional family, and Draco would certainly not be wearing his heart on his sleeve. Definitely not for Harry Potter. 

The idea was absurd. Harry probably thought Draco was crazy. Great, thought Draco, another person who thinks I'm a pitiable creature.

Draco had only felt relief when he arrived at Hogwarts, even as he saw Ron Weasley in the Great Hall at the first dinner back. He was sitting with Harry, and they were talking nonstop. Draco feared he was the topic of the conversation. In fact, the very idea made him feel nauseous. He strained to listen without looking up from his pie. 

He breathed a sigh of relief, at first, when he realised that Ron was talking about his sister. 

'She missed you over Christmas, Harry,' he heard Weasley say. 'She talked about you. A lot, actually.'  

'She uninvited me, Ron. She's moved on. So have I.' 

'Ginny's proud, is all. Also - I know you, mate. You haven't. What - you've got hundreds of girls queueing up to date you, and what? No one all year. Come on, Harry, don't be a prat.' 

Ah, Draco thought. Harry hadn't said anything. The boy was probably embarrassed. His brief tryst with Draco was obviously some breakdown caused by his breakup with the Weasley girl. Draco felt an odd sense of dissapointment, but pushed it to the back of his mind. It would do him no good to live in some fantasy world. Don't start wishing, he reminded himself. 

Harry's tone was, quite suddenly, ratherangry. 

'I've told you, Ron. I'm not going to get back together with your sister.'

Draco could scarcely breathe.

Ron fell silent, but only for a second. Then, he spoke in a calm, sad tone. 'Harry, mate, she loves you. Whatever you feel, you'll have to deal with that eventually.'  

'I know,' Harry said in a softer voice. 'I promise I will. But I can't give her false hope. She's been through too much to be let down again.' 

Draco looked up just in time to see Ron nod. He looked grim, but resigned, watching Harry closely. Harry visibly grit his teeth. Yet again, Draco had no idea how he was supposed to feel about, well, anything really. He tried to focus on his pie. 

 

 

 


	6. Forging new paths

Harry 

 

Getting Draco out of Harry's mind was proving much harder than anticipated. They had scarcely talked since Harry had returned to Hogwarts. Draco was behaving as though Christmas had never happened. Harry sighed - maybe Draco wished it hadn't. The thought made the dark-haired young man feel sad, and he tried his best to put it out of his mind. Whatever was happening with Draco, Harry had a task. He was sick of seeing Ron looking at him with over-eager eyes, watching any interaction he and Ginny had. He was sick of Ginny doing the same sure that it was cruel of him to keep dragging her along. He had thought he had been clear with her, but this hadn't proved to be the case. For whatever reason the beautiful, vivacious he had come to know (and, at some level, came to love), had reverted back to the Ginny of Harry's childhood; incessantly keen on him, and, quite frankly, a little hysterical.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the Gryffindor common room. Truthfully, he was half-dissapointed to see her sitting in her usual place, playing wizard's chess with a girl Harry didn't recognise. He certainly wouldn't have declined the opportunity to delay this confrontation a little more. Ginny's eyes shot to his immediately. For once, he met her at her gaze, smiling softly back at her. Ginny grinned widely, only furthering Harry's guilt. Smile now slightly painful, he approached her with trepidation.

'Hey, Gin,' he said, and instantly regretted using his old nickname for her. It had only further widened her smile. Ginny was naive, and hopeful, and the idea of him breaking her heart made her feel sick to his stomach.

'Hi, Harry,' she said, gazing up at him. He nodded briefly at the other girl.

'Hey, Harry,' the blonde girl said, glancing up at him. How did -? Of course, everyone knew. Famous Harry Potter... an old voice played in his head. He pushed any thoughts of Draco to the back of his mind, quite determined that this wasn't about him. How could it be? They weren't even... no, Harry, he reminded himself hastily. Focus.

'Could we have a chat - when you two have finished?'

The blonde shot Ginny a meaningful glance. Harry groaned internally. 'Go now,' she said, quickly - half jumping to her feet as she did, 'I don't mind, Ginny. Not in the slightest.'

Without responding, Harry jerked his head, and Ginny followed him out of the corridor. Harry made sure to walk noticeably in front of her. He was worried she might try and hold his hand. Once he had satisfied himself in a quiet crook of the castle, sitting on a little stone step, he gestured for Ginny to sit down next to him. Harry had practised, in his mirror, more than once - but it was too hard, now, now that she was in front of him. Whilst he was struggling for words, they seemed to be coming with ease to the redhead.

'I am sorry, Harry, about Christmas. But it's difficult for me, us going through this rough patch,' she paused, breathily. Harry didn't mean his eyes, preferring to stare at his shoes as though they were objects of great fascination to him. 'Hopefully next year, when things are easier...'

'Ginny,' Harry interrupted, not caring if he was being rude. He couldn't bear it, how much he would hurt her, how hopeful and excited she seemed. She leaned in at his words, almost pressing her forehead to his. Without really meaning to, he leaned back in a jerk of sudden movement. 'I don't - this isn't a rough patch. At least, I don't think so. I think,' he searched her face, which was suddenly impassive, 'I think this is the end. Of us.'

Ginny's head snapped to the side. She stared pointedly at the wall opposite them, which was totally plain, but Harry could see the beginnings of tears welling up in her brown eyes. God, he was such a prick. He wanted to hug her, and tell it would all be okay. A tiny part of him wanted to say he loved her, just to get her to stop crying. He swallowed down all the urges. He loved her, as a sister only, and knew he couldn't be the one to comfort her. The silence was painful. Ginny swallowed harshly, her voice a mere croak,

'I can't believe this.' Harry turned to look at her, no matter how daunting it seemed. She was rubbing her fingers together, as though lost in deep thought. 'I'm so stupid. I've been so stupid.'

'You aren't stupid, Gin, of course not,' Harry said, and he meant it. Even as his love had faded for the young witch, his respect hadn't wavered one bit. People often said that Hermione was the brightest witch of her age, but he always had a sneaking suspicion that Ginny was a dark horse.

'I just always assumed...' she trailed off, turning slowly to look at Harry, eyes wide and searching.

'I know,' Harry said softly. 'Me too. Me too, Gin.'

'I'm sorry, Harry.'

'Please don't apologise.' Harry took a deep breath. 'Should I get someone, Gin? Ron?'

Ginny snorted. 'God, no,' she said, weakly. 'Please just go, Harry. It'll be okay. It always is.'

It always is, Harry thought. It always is. As he walked away, on a whim, a sudden flash of Gryffindor bravery, he pulled out the Marauders Map. Only one thought permeated his mind - Draco.

 

Draco

Draco was lying, face up, at the edge of the forbidden forest, out of view, or so he had supposed, of prying eyes. It was peaceful here, Draco had decided, as far back as third year (of course, not having known about the werewolf in the faculty), and he had certainly never been disturbed. Which was one of the reasons why he was quite startled to her footsteps approaching. And at considerable pace, moreover. Reluctantly, he sat up and turned to see - no, it couldn't be. Not for the first time Draco wondered how Harry Potter managed to be everywhere, all the time.

'Draco,' the boy rushed at him, breathless. Quickly, he kneeled down, slightly above the blonde. Draco looked back at him with wide, surpised eyes. He was too shocked to say anything, resigning himself to staring helplessly. 'Draco. I like you. I like you a lot.'

Draco blinked.

'I know this is strange, but Christmas - I can't stop thinking about it. I explained to Ginny that it was all over. It's all you. I -'

It had a been a long time since Draco had done anything that might be described as brave. But, all of a sudden, on the edge of the dark and mysterious forest - the same forest where Harry had died, for goodness' sake, he felt a rush of uncharacteristic courage come over him. Red, blushing and breathless, Harry looked like all of Draco's dreams about him - dreams he denied having. The desire he had long suppressed for the mop haired Gryffindor, all irritating and incessant goodness and light. Of course Potter had decided to be all kindness and consideration towards the Weasley girl, though Draco was sure that on some level her overbearing affection must have irritated Harry. Overwhelmed by the sight of bright green eyes, Draco's rush of bravery turned to a feeling of abject lust and then - they kissed. It was better than the first time, if that was possible, thought Draco, as he stroked a hand down Potter's back. Potter's glasses pressed against his cheeks, certain to leave marks. Draco hoped they would. Draco hoped beyond hope that this was no moment of madness, he hoped against all odds that Harry would - 

and then it was finished. Draco and Harry, both, gasping for air. Harry trailed a hand over Draco's cheek, tender and sweet. For the first time in a long time, Draco realised he was being looked at with love. 


End file.
